


To dread one's love

by LadyBraken



Series: Terrorfest- Halloween 2019 [4]
Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Death, Forbidden use of one's new divinity, Hickey being a chaotic arctic creature, M/M, Wounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-28 23:47:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21145235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyBraken/pseuds/LadyBraken
Summary: John Irving had always wished to be loved. Loved by his father - by his brother, by his friend. He was, in a sense, but - never enough. Never in the good way, never in the right way. He had written letters - all his life - begging to be loved in half words - half thoughts. He had prayed everyday - every night, so that God would love him.John Irving had done all he could to be loved. He had been polite, always - to the point of meek sometimes. Truthful, as much as he could. A good man. A man of faith, a man of duty.But then - then-





	To dread one's love

John Irving had always wished to be loved. Loved by his father - by his brother, by his friend. He was, in a sense, but - never enough. Never in the good way, never in the right way. He had written letters - all his life - begging to be loved in half words - half thoughts. He had prayed everyday - every night, so that God would love him. 

John Irving had done all he could to be loved. He had been polite, always - to the point of meek sometimes. Truthful, as much as he could. A good man. A man of faith, a man of duty. 

But then - then-

He had tried to be a good man - a good officer, when he had forgiven Gibson for his - trespassing. Forgiven for doing what John didn’t dare to think. 

But then,  _ then- _

It had started with looks. A blazing gaze across the ship. A scorching whisper at the other side of the room. A flash of red, always so damning. 

Irving had thought: that was not love. That was something else, something dark, something he didn’t want to touch. 

It touched him anyway.

Even when he had died, when his eyes had risen to the white, endless sky, his last thought, flipping, desperate:

_ Oh God I wish I would have been loved if only by you- _

_ _ _ Why is this happening? What have I done wrong, Father? Was I never enough? _

_ _ _ I did everything I- I couldn’t - I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry- Why is his hand on my mouth- I don’t want this touch, I don’t want this taste, I don’t want this knife- _

_ _ _ Please don’t hate me for my failures- Please- I’m sorry - please- I- _

_ _ _ Please- _

_ _ He opened his eyes to white. White, white and endless white- was this heaven? It seemed like it - he felt so weightless, so  _ light _ \- surely, this was en eternal rest. 

And then, suddenly, a face above him.

A face he wished never to had known. Cornelius Hickey was standing over him, bloody and pale like the day his knife had slashed Irving's sides. Was it the same day? Had Irving survived,somehow?

Hickey smile was flood of bloody teeth. The world suddenly shook and blurred. A searing pain shot through Irving's chest. Breath caught out of his lungs, muscles spasming. Cramps ran all over his body in waves. 

Hickey’s hand went on his brow in a painful caress. Irving turned his head as much as he could to the side. 

The sea. He was staring at the sea. 

Irving watched the waves crashing on the icy shore. His breath slowly, slowly took the rhythm of the sea - like it had for so many years. Hickey’s hand was icy on his forehead, but enough to anchor him to the present. To the tangible. 

He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream. Alone, alone alone- he was so cold - floating in nothing, seeing the world around through the glass of his eyes. He wanted to scratch his skin until he was no more-

_ Why, oh God why are there still things to feel? _

Hickey passed an arm behind his back and prompted him up with horrifying tenderness. Irving’s head fell backwards into the other man’s hand. Irving’s eyes fell on himself. 

He wanted to puke. His body had been cut open, butchered - by Hickey himself, no doubt. Yet, he wasn’t dead. Yet, his guts were constricting around nothing, moving as if still feeding a life that was no more. 

A life that shouldn’t be. 

He couldn’t look at that. He couldn’t look at Hickey. He couldn’t look at the frozen rocks - at the hell he was trapped in. He looked at his hands. 

He whimpered. 

“Hush,” said Hickey, droplets of blood falling from his mouth with each breath, “now now, don’t be like that.”

Hickey passed his arms and dragged him to a big rock on which he propped up the lieutenant. He spit some blood to the side and sat on the frozen rock like he couldn’t feel them at all. 

Irving wondered if Hickey was dead, too. Then, he remembered that he was himself terribly  _ not _ dead. 

Irving stared at his hands, and stared, and stared, and stared. He took a deep, teary breath. “What am I?” he whispered. 

Hickey’s smile was sickeningly sweet. “An experiment,” he declared almost proudly.

Tears fell from Irving’s eyes and ran to his chin. He was trembling, he knew, but he barely felt it under the hurt, the cold. LIke ice had slipped inside his bones.  _ An experiment _ . What had the man done to him? Was it not enough to murder him?

_ Did I do so wrong for this to happen to me? _

_ My God, did you hate me so to cast me in this hell? _

“Now, now. Don’t cry, lieutenant.” Hickey said, and suddenly, Irving had a full sight of his butchered mouth. His tongue was cut - still bleeding and bleeding and bleeding. LIke a river falling from his mouth - like all the lies he said tainting his chin. How was he still talking? How was he still alive? 

“I brought you back, didn’t I? Every man would do anything to be granted a second chance. Like your Christ - though it took a bit longer than three days for you. I was busy, mind.” the man said, and the blasphemy was almost forgotten under the sheer horror of his words. 

_ I brought you back.  _

Irving opened his mouth, and closed it again; The world was falling on his head - and yet, yet he couldn’t manage to die, not even to  _ faint _ . His breath was coming short, and each rise and fall of his chest hurt like his murder all over again, and again, and again. 

_ Make it stop, please make it stop _ . 

He must have said it aloud - or Hickey could read his thoughts on his face, he didn’t know. But the smug grin fell from his lips and he frowned - a frown so like the ones he used to give Irving a long time ago, when he still lowered his head in front of his superiors, when he still made himself small and unnoticeable.

“I didn’t want to bring you back, at first. When I killed you, I thought I would just go on. Like everytime - like when I killed Hickey, like when I killed Billy.” Hickey’s eyes roamed over Irving’s face and one of his bloody hands cupped the man’s cheek. “But I couldn’t. There was something missing, even after I ate, even after I became  _ what I am _ . I’ve walked this land for a long, long time, but it wasn’t the same when you weren’t watching me.”

Irving didn’t even have the strength to glare. He just waited - for whatever end this disgusting monologue would be.

“Then, I remembered. Did you know that the beast - the bear - took the souls of the people it kills?” 

Irving wished he could close his eyes. He wished he could shut this all away - yet there was something compelling on Hickey’s face. Something so horrible Irving couldn’t stop to watch. 

_ It always was there, wasn’t it? You never could stop yourself from watching.  _

Irving gulped. 

“So I thought,” continued Hickey, “I thought : what if it was the same for me? And look! It worked!”

Irving's insides were steaming against the polar cold. Couldn’t Hickey see the horror of what he had done? 

“Don’t worry, it’ll be fine. We’ll stay together, and you’ll just have to watch. No touching if you don’t want, promise!”

Dread was the only thing left in Irving's mind. He didn't wonder if he could kill Hickey, he didn't wonder if he could die himself. 

The thing, the mad softness that was in Hickey's eyes.

He knew it.  _ He knew.  _

John Irving had always wished to be loved. Loved by his father - by his brother, by his friend. He was, in a sense, but - never enough. Never in the good way, never in the right way. He had written letters - all his life - begging to be loved in half words - half thoughts. He had prayed everyday - every night. So that God would love him. 

Irving had wished. Irving had dreamt. Irving had prayed. 

Now his eyes were wide open. 


End file.
